En Tremblant
by SadArticle
Summary: Jane and Frank Churchill get the Wedding Night treatment! You know the drill - Austen purists and readers of a sensitive nature, proceed with care. Please read and review.


En Tremblant

Frank Churchill closed the chamber door. At the sound of the key revolving in the lock, Jane, his new bride, turned to face him.

"I have been waiting so long for tonight," he declared, his voice thick with desire.

"Frank!" Jane gasped, blushing furiously.

"Forgive me," he laughed, pushing away from the door. "I should have said, _we_ have been waiting so long for tonight."

"You need not have said anything at all," she corrected him, taking a surprised half-step backwards.

"You are right, once again," he said, bowing his head. "Who needs words?"

He leaped forward, attacking his petite bride with a fumbling embrace that was so unlike his previous considerate attentions that Jane had to battle to free herself.

"Frank, please!" she insisted, holding him at bay with her palms flat on his chest. "What is the matter with you?"

"Oh, can you ask such a question?" he groaned. "I want you, my own precious pearl. I _need_ you. Surely you –" he hesitated, frowning. "Surely you feel the same?"

Jane nodded, reassured by the look in her husband's eye, and the slight tremor in his voice, that Frank was nervous also. Even though he had once professed to her that she was his first and only love, Jane knew that there were other ways and means for men to gain practical experience of lovemaking. Though her imagination might fret, however, she could not – and would never – ask such an unladylike question outright.

"You know I do, darling," she sighed, submitting to his caresses. "Only, please be patient."

Nodding, smiling, Frank drew her against him. She could feel his body pressing hard against her stomach, even through the various layers of material between them, and his hands soon slipped from the small of her back to the rounded curves below. Jane gave into the moment.

His kiss was soft at first, pressing against her lips with a gentle but constant pressure, like the modest gestures of love she had allowed during their illicit courtship. Then his hands, previously engaged in fondling her body, came up to frame her face, and suddenly his tongue was in her mouth.

Surprised, and uncertain of how to respond, Jane let him in, but the taste of alcohol in his mouth was making her feel ill and she was struggling to breathe.

"Wait," she cried, breaking free, "wait! I should – we should – freshen up first."

Breathing heavily, Frank nodded. "Yes, of course," he agreed. "Do you need help with your gown? I mean, should I call for a maid?"

"Thank you, I can manage," she answered politely, while her eyes strayed to the bulge beneath the fall of his light-coloured trousers.

"Go through, then," he instructed, gesturing towards an interior door. "I shall wait here for you."

On trembling legs, Jane started for the dressing room. Her body seemed to be waging a civil war, with limbs, heart and stomach all signalling fear, while other, more intimate areas were displaying an altogether more pleasurable response.

She turned at the door to watch Frank strip off his coat, tossing the garment negligently over a chair back, and then start in on the buttons of his waistcoat, his back to her all the while. Part of her wanted to stay and watch him disrobe, but her overwhelming sense of propriety – and that same nervousness making her pulse hammer in her throat – urged her into the small closet before he turned around.

When he heard the door close, Frank threw himself down on the bed with a stifled groan. He was making a colossal hash of the most wonderful night of his life, but there was no help for his actions. The undignified truth of the matter was that he _ached_ for her – a literal, physical, all consuming ache between his legs that could only be relieved by lying with his wife.

Just the thought of her made him grab hold of his throbbing crotch. The sight of her slender throat, soft, sloping shoulders and creamy décolletage above her wedding gown had been stirring his passion all day. He wondered what other delights she was unveiling at this moment. His wife's breasts were not generous like Emma Woodhouse's – Emma Knightley's, Frank mentally corrected himself – but the soft mounds supported by her underpinnings looked promising, and he longed to see for himself. The rest he dared not even contemplate.

Tugging his cravat free and popping the buttons on his cuffs, Frank unfastened the fall of his trousers. The feeling of release from his engorged manhood was almost a pleasure in itself, and he quickly untucked the hem of his shirt to find the drawstring of his drawers and so expose himself completely.

"Frank, what are you doing?"

Her voice startled him, and he barely had time to throw his shirt down over his erection before his wife appeared at his side. He had noticed her staring with horror at his bulging trouser front, and didn't want to alarm her with the naked truth.

"Waiting for you, my love," he answered, bending over to take off his boots so that he could finish undressing. From this awkward angle, he took his first full look at her _en dishabille_, and straightened up in pleasant surprise, making a tent of his shirt front.

Her night rail, a delicate creation presumably gifted to Jane by Mrs Dixon or the Campbells, was a long, floating gown of silk, trimmed with lace, that somehow managed to cover all but hide nothing. Candlelight made a silhouette of his wife's form within, and the points of her breasts pushed out against the flimsy panels.

"Do you like it?" she asked timidly, her hands fluttering to cover first one part of her body then another. When she smoothed the material over her stomach and thighs, a nervous gesture he must have seen her perform every day since their engagement, straightening her gown after sitting for any length of time, he glimpsed the dark triangle between her legs and nearly lost control of his own body.

"Beautiful," he choked, and cleared his throat. "You are beautiful. Come to me."

She blushed, smiled, and then giggled. "Would you like to finish what you are doing first?"

With a baffled frown, Frank followed her gaze to take in his own appearance. Still wearing one boot, and with his trousers and linen drawers bunched around his ankles, he too saw the funny side. Hastily disposing of footwear, stockings, undergarments and trousers, he stepped towards his bride.

"This is a very charming nightgown," he told her, tracing the neckline with his fingertips, "but too delicate to wear to bed." Jane swallowed visibly. "May I?" he asked, taking up the tails of the ribbon beneath her breasts. She nodded.

He swept his fingers under the bodice, parting the ties, and then moved his hands up to her shoulders. Holding her large grey eyes with what he hoped was reassuring contact, Frank slipped the puffed sleeves from her arms and started to ease the thin sheath down over the contours of her body.

Like unwrapping a surprise gift in tantalising stages, he held his breath while revealing her breasts, high and firm with dark pink buds at the tips, and then the curves below. Her stomach was like a satin pillow, beautifully soft and unblemished. Easing the open neckline over her hips, Frank lowered himself to his knees so that he was facing the teasing shadow beneath the gathering folds of silk, and then let the gown float to Jane's feet.

Her mound was thickly covered with a thatch of dark hair, already ripe and glistening.

"Frank, please," Jane's voice drifted down to him. She covered herself with her hands. "Stand up. You are embarrassing me."

He followed the line of her crossed arms, and saw that she was flushed pink all over with shame.

"Forgive me," he whispered, taking hold of her forearms until she lowered her guard. He reached for her hands, which she gave willingly. "Let us get into bed."

Jane stepped forward to pull back the counterpane and blankets beneath. Taking the opportunity while her back was turned, Frank raised his shirt over his head and tossed his last stitch of modesty onto the floor. He moved behind Jane, filling his palms with her breasts and gently fondling her body.

Feeling his hardness against her back, and the heat of his swollen flesh pressing into the valley of her bottom, Jane froze. When his hands reached around to grope her breasts, her breath caught in her throat. The battle of mind and body continued within her, however, and she could feel herself growing warm and wet at his touch.

She called his name, but whether to tell him to stop or go on she was unaware. He started teasing her nipples between his fingers, coaxing the already sensitive tips with a firm but not painful touch.

"Please, darling," Jane whimpered, covering his hands with her own. She pressed her thighs together against the pressure building between them, but writhing in his lap only brought Frank closer from behind. "Please, let me turn around and look at you."

He released her breasts, tingling from his expert stimulation, and with his hands on her hips, slowly eased her around in his possessive embrace.

She tried not to look down, but his erection was too prominent to ignore.

"Lay back," he soothed, catching her chin and raising her eyes to meet his. "Trust in me."

Her heart thudding uncomfortably, Jane lowered herself delicately onto the cool sheets she had just prepared. Looking up to meet Frank's eyes, so that she did not have to contemplate the rest of him, she positioned herself awkwardly in the middle of the bed, taking care to keep her thighs together.

The sight of her breasts trembling with every cautious movement was too much for Frank, who rushed to join her. "Lay back," he urged again, filling his hands with her flesh.

Jane sank down onto her elbows under his guidance, and then draped herself against the soft bedding. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so folded them over her stomach.

"Do you know what happens now?" Frank murmured, stroking a hand along her raised thigh.

She had an idea, purely theoretical, but shook her head. "No. Do you?"

Frank smiled. "Naturally," he said, trying to slide his fingers between her legs. Jane looked horrified. "I mean to say, what we are doing is natural, of course. I know – and you know – what should happen."

"Oh," was all Jane could find to say.

He eased her knees down. "Close your eyes," he whispered, "and trust me."

"I do, Frank, I do," Jane assured him.

"Shh, now," he went on. "Close your eyes."

She felt she had no choice but to obey, even though what she most wanted to do was gaze upon his face. With a sigh, Jane reluctantly gave herself up to her husband's direction and the hand between her legs. He lightly ran his fingers up and down the inside of her thighs, relaxing her until she opened up to him still further, then moved to caress the hidden core of her body. Smoothing his fingers over the thick hair covering her mound, he worked closer and closer to the centre, parting her lips and darting within until Jane was writhing beneath his touch.

When she tried to push herself up, he rolled onto her, flattening her against the mattress, and jabbed the tip of himself into her body. The kiss of her slick heat against his swollen member overcame the agonising control he was struggling to maintain, and he exploded without even properly entering her.

Jane cried out, thinking the act was complete, and Frank flopped back onto the bed.

"Jane, Jane, forgive me," he groaned, raising an arm to drape over his eyes.

Physically, the blue ache had subsided, but he could not claim to be satisfied. They had barely joined together before his body had betrayed him.

"But that was ... not so bad," she offered timidly, rising up onto her elbows beside him.

Her body, and the bedding beneath, was glistening with wetness, but there was no blood and she had felt no pain. Her close friend Anne Campbell, after becoming Mrs Dixon, had once intimated that her wedding night had been an uncomfortable occasion of embarrassment and discomfort, but surely she was exaggerating?

"My love, we have –" Jane met his eyes with such love and trust that Frank faltered. "We have barely started," he whispered.

Jane smiled uncertainly. There was to be more, so soon? She watched him stroke his hand up her wet thigh, holding her breath when his fingers dipped between her legs once more. Heat flooded her body from the intensity of his intimate touch, and she closed her eyes, groaning with arousal.

"Here, give me your hand," he said, his warm, slick fingers closing around her wrist.

Hungry for more, Jane let Frank guide her own hand to replace his. Never, ever had she touched herself there, and the contours of her hidden sex surprised her. Her husband watched her stir the swollen folds of her body, probing gently within and gasping with surprise when she found the most sensitive place of all.

Swallowing hard, he lowered his dry lips to her breast, moistening the firm bud with his tongue. Jane raised her hand to his face, pushing him away.

"Do you not like that?" Frank asked, aware of the strong scent of sex on her fingers.

"Kiss me," she pleaded.

He submitted, sinking his mouth onto hers, where she received him with uncharacteristic abandon. Her thighs were parted and he knew she was ready for him now, but he was afraid to try and enter her again.

While his lips and tongue were distracting his nervous bride, Frank eased his finger up inside her. She bucked and gasped into his mouth, but let his probing touch remain. He slipped his finger out, stirring her bud with his thumb, before carefully working two fingers back into her body. Jane groaned, but her burning core was throbbing with arousal, responding hungrily to his stimulation.

Withdrawing his fingers, Frank positioned himself atop her and slowly guided his erection between her legs. He stopped himself from kissing her, barely able to control himself until the right moment, and so witnessed the surprise on her face when he started to push deeper inside.

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

Jane did so, but he could feel her sex tightening around him, closing him out instead of drawing him in.

"Oh, Frank, what is wrong?" she asked innocently. "Am I – too small for you?"

He rested on one elbow above her, smiling at the probably unintended compliment she was paying him. His member, whether less or more than average, was slowly wilting against her thigh.

"No, no," he assured her. "Look, my love, you must relax! Let the teasing and the act flow together. Do you enjoy being touched, down there?"

Jane nodded slowly, frowning. "But I thought – was that not 'the act'?" she asked, indicating the creamy deposit smeared about her stomach and thighs.

"No, my love," Frank sighed. "I must enter all the way inside you."

Her face blanched. "All of you – when you are ... hard?"

"Exactly then," he said. "And do not worry that you are too small, or that I am – that I will not fit inside you. If your body is ready, we should be like – hand and glove!"

Jane bolted upright and pushed herself free of the bed. "Like hand and glove!" she echoed.

"A poor example, perhaps," Frank agreed, watching her take up his coat from the chair and wrap the oversize mantle around her naked body. "Jane, please come back to bed," he called to her, sitting on the edge of the mattress.

She stalked to the door and stood there with her back to him.

"Jane, my love," he said again.

All he could see of her trim little figure were her calves and ankles. The collar of his coat even hid her delectable neck from his view. He remembered admiring that part of her anatomy – amongst others – to Emma Woodhouse, and telling her that he would have his aunt's jewels reset to decorate her dark hair, perhaps.

The jewels! Of course. His uncle had already made Frank a gift of them, so that he may present them to his bride on this very night. Cunning old fox.

"My love, I have a surprise for you," he announced, bounding naked across to the bureau by the window.

He lifted the leather box from the otherwise empty drawer, hiding his hands behind his back when he turned back to Jane. Unfortunately, that made his offending manhood the focus of her attention while he advanced, but that couldn't be helped. He tried to walk slowly, keeping the pendulous swing of his gigantic member to a minimum.

"Not again, Frank," she cried.

"Not _that_, this," he laughed, flicking the catch on the box and displaying the glittering contents to her. "Would you wear them for me – now?"

The former Mrs Churchill had had expensive, if not exquisite, taste in jewellery. Jane gasped at the sight of the demi-parure, laid out in a tray of dark blue velvet. Thirty five large emeralds and a constellation of glittering rose-cut diamonds formed a thick necklace with one pendant, two girandole earrings and a matching brooch.

"My uncle's gift to you, my beautiful wife," Frank told her softly. "Will you accept them?"

"Oh, Frank," Jane whispered, reaching out to touch the jewels. Tears sparkled in her grey eyes. "I have never seen anything so – magnificent!"

"Allow me?" he prompted, pointing to the necklace. She nodded.

Setting the box to one side, Frank turned to Jane. He slipped his hands beneath the lapels of his coat and pushed the tailored sleeves from her shoulders. She trembled slightly, but didn't try to cover herself.

Turning her around, he tucked up the loose strands of hair lying against her neck, and pressed his lips to her nape. Then, selecting the heavy gold chain from its velvet setting, he adorned his new wife with a fortune in emeralds.

Jane gasped when the cold metal touched her skin, her skin pebbling all over.

"Can I turn around now?" she asked, when he had finished fiddling with the clasp.

"Please," Frank almost begged her.

She inched around slowly, feeling the weight of the jewels about her throat. Running her fingers over the stones, she tried to bow her head to view the effect on herself, but Frank pushed her hands away and tilted her face upwards.

He would have the stones reset into a simple pendant, and perhaps a diadem for her hair, but for the moment his wife looked truly brilliant, he thought. The emeralds complemented her dark colouring, while the diamonds glistened against her creamy complexion, now on full display.

Frank held her face between his hands and kissed her, lightly, sensuously.

"Back to bed," he murmured.

Jane hesitated. "The necklace," she said at last.

"Is yours now," he finished. "I want you to remember the first night you wore it, always."

In the grey light of early morning, with her satiated and slumbering husband beside her, Jane Churchill fingered the precious collar of emeralds and diamonds that rested snugly around her neck. She should replace the costly necklace with the rest of the set, she knew, but couldn't bear to part with her prize. The gold had warmed up against her skin and she no longer felt like she was being choked by the heavy burden.

Smiling to herself, Jane reached beneath the bedclothes to finger lightly another gift from her husband. He had taken her to bed, and finally – after much touching, teasing and my goodness, even kissing her down there – shown to his wife how well they really did suit each other. She was sore in secret places, yet even the tentative questing of her own delicate fingertips was enough to excite her. Her sex was already blossoming, and she wondered if she should wake Frank to take her again.

In time, she could get used to anything.


End file.
